


Mistletoe Mischeif

by coyotecorpse



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas at 221B Baker Street, Domestic Fluff, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Greg Lestrade & John Watson Friendship, M/M, Meddling, Mistletoe, Molly Hooper Appreciation, Mrs. Hudson Ships It, Mycroft is a Softie, Sherlock Being Sherlock, Sherlock's Violin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-20
Updated: 2020-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:14:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28187490
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coyotecorpse/pseuds/coyotecorpse
Summary: Mycroft and Greg arrive at the same time, just as the ham comes out of the oven. Mycroft doesn’t say a word and simply places a few gift boxes under the tree before sitting on the couch. Greg, on the other hand, greets everyone with a jovial smile. He kisses Molly on the forehead, lets Mrs. Hudson pinch his cheeks, and gives John a friendly slap on the back. Sherlock cocks his head to the side at the display. Something is off and he can’t quite put his finger on it.He puts his hands together and grins mischievously. This Christmas is about to get very interesting.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Greg Lestrade, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson
Comments: 4
Kudos: 141





	Mistletoe Mischeif

**Author's Note:**

> some dumb little holiday fluff I wrote for a friend. enjoy a nice christmas at 221b

Christmas in London is fast paced. The city always hums with life but something about the holidays makes it burst like a livewire. Lights everywhere, people milling around shops, near constant Christmas music drifting from homes and businesses alike make the streets of London overwhelming and loud this time of year.

John is putting up the last few decorations for the Christmas party. Bright red bulbs and shiny tinsel cover the whole flat, giving it a very homey holiday feel. Sherlock is playing soft music on the violin, little hymns that John can’t quite place. He hasn’t helped with the decorations all day but at least the tall bastard is providing some entertainment. Melodies flow through the air as the last touches are placed delicately around the living room. It’s a lovely way to spend Christmas eve morning in John’s opinion, a peaceful moment in his otherwise chaotic life.

They have a few hours before Christmas dinner. The ham is in the oven, Mts. Hudson is bringing vegetables, and Molly is going to be sharing her family’s apple pie. Things are shaping up quite well. Which is probably why Sherlock is acting so bored.

He glances up at the doctor, hands still skillfully moving the bow across the strings of his violin. He isn’t saying anything. He doesn’t have to. John can almost hear his thoughts from where he’s standing by the fireplace. 

_ Johnnnnnn. Wouldn’t a case be nice? I’ll be good at dinner if you get me a case. _

The ex-soldier snorts, giving Sherlock a pointed stare. He refuses for this Christmas to end up like the last one they shared. Irene’s lewd text tone and Sherlock’s lack of social skills had made the night rather unpleasant for everyone involved.

It’s their first Christmas together since the Fall.

John’s mind slips back to those years without Sherlock by his side. It had been dreadful living without his darling detective. He’d been cooped up in his tiny shoebox so very far away from 221b, unable to stand seeing the place so devoid of what made it special. He’d drank the whole night away and ignored every call from Greg and Molly. He’d nearly lost his mind back then. He was so overcome with grief and anger and so much more. He felt like half a man without Sherlock by his side.

The sound of the violin tears him from his thoughts, a sweet tune echoes through the air and makes John’s heart swell. He’s whole again. His detective is home and they are together, truly and properly  _ together _ .

“As much as I love your playing, you really should help me set the table.”

Sherlock scoffs but sits his violin to the side nonetheless. He’s been getting better at being helpful, better at taking other people into account.

“I don’t understand why we have to set the table. These people have been to our flat on many occasions. I don’t think they care if we have a nice looking tablecloth and stupidly expensive silverware.”

Being helpful doesn’t change who Sherlock really is, a complete and total prick.

“Sherl, this is one time of year where the flat doesn’t look like a mess. Just clean the table and try to cover all the blood stains.” His voice is full of annoyance but his eyes are soft, lessening the impact of the command greatly. But Sherlock is a good partner, so he covers the table and doesn’t mention that some of the stains on the table are far more dangerous than blood.

They went a little overboard this year with preparations. They bought flowers from the tables, hung mistletoe in the hallway, and even printed little table seating cards for each plate. It was a lot compared to what they were used to.

John doesn’t really care much for Christmas, never celebrated it much as a kid, so he never understood why decorating meant so much to Sherlock. It came to his attention on their last Christmas together that it was the one time of year that Sherlock was guaranteed to see his elder brother. As much as Sherlock hates to admit it, he adored Mycroft when he was younger. His sentiment for Mycroft grew into a love for most things Christmas.Not all the corporate buy-this and buy-that stuff, but the acts of kindness, the stories, the gifts. He loves to deduce what people get him and, in turn, deduce what gift they want the most. It’s an easy kind of fun that requires minimal brain power but still keeps him on his toes. Especially with Mycroft. The man always eluded him, always so hard to read. He’d never gotten him the perfect gift and despite his best efforts he’s sure his gift this year will be another failure.

Mycroft hadn’t been in attendance at the last party at 221b. He hadn’t exactly been invited, but since the Fall and all that happened afterward, his and Sherlock’s relationships has slowly mended itself into something more like brothers and less like mortal enemies. 

John thinks for a moment and places the politician’s name card as far away from Sherlock’s as he could just to be safe. He and Sherlock at one end of the table, Molly and Mrs. Hudson blocking Mycroft from any direct contact with the younger Holmes, and Greg by John’s side so they could complain about Sherlock’s tantrums without the other man hearing them.

The perfect seating arrangement for a not so perfect family.

John grins and Sherlock goes back to playing violin. They’ve got a few hours to kill before people start showing up, so John allows himself to relax by the fire as Sherlock plays a rendition of SIlent Night.

Mrs. Hudson arrives first, eyes wide with excitement and hands filled by a rather large dish of mixed cooked veggies. She sits the dish down on the table eagerly before sitting a couple of gift bags by the tree. It’s not quite time to eat so her and John make small talk while Sherlock continues to play, this time one of Mrs. Hudson’s favorites.

Molly comes in next, nervously stumbling through the door. She’s got a pie in one hand and gifts in the other. John takes the pie and gives her a comforting smile. Mrs. Hudson starts chatting about how beautiful she looks and how plum is most definitely her color. Sherlock sits down his violin to greet her, not smiling but with twinkling eyes. He isn’t the best at showing it but he does care about Molly. She gives him a shy wave and Sherlock can’t help but grin when it hits him that she’s been seeing someone.

She deserves that, someone to love that isn’t Sherlock Holmes.

No-one mentions that he hugs her for a second too long and looks a little bit too relieved when she doesn’t cling to him like she would have a few years back.

Mycroft and Greg arrive at the same time, just as the ham comes out of the oven. Mycroft doesn’t say a word and simply places a few gift boxes under the tree before sitting on the couch. Greg, on the other hand, greets everyone with a jovial smile. He kisses Molly on the forehead, lets Mrs. Hudson pinch his cheeks, and gives John a friendly slap on the back. Sherlock cocks his head to the side at the display. Something is off and he can’t quite put his finger on it.

He puts his hands together and grins mischievously. This Christmas is about to get very interesting.

Everyone takes their place at the table, and Sherlock puts his plan into motion. Operation Find Out Why Graham Is So Happy is a go.

“Greg darling you are absolutely glowing! Don’t tell me there’s a new woman in your life we haven’t met.” Mrs. Hudson plays right into Sherlock’s plan. He grins and turns his attention to Greg, pressuring him to respond.

Greg chuckles, gathering himself another spoonful of veggies. “Just having a great holiday I suppose.”

“You do seem much happier than usual, Lestrade. Are you sure there isn’t something you want to share?” Sherlock pushes, trying to look as innocent as possible. John shoots him a questioning look but no-one seems to be onto him yet.

Molly, sweet and kind Molly, cuts in. “C’mon Greg. Tell us about her.” 

Greg sighs and Sherlock stares at him with wrapped attention, missing the biggest clue of all. John, who despite what Sherlock says, is actually quite observant and catches the grimace that crosses Mycroft’s face. He looks more uncomfortable than Greg does, eyeing his food and refusing to look up.

“I am seeing someone new. Well, not really new, but uh that’s all I’m gonna say about the matter. There are more important things to talk about than my love life.”

Sherlock groans under his breath and John catches the relieved look that crosses Mycroft’s face. So it was the topic that was making him uncomfortable. Why in the world would Mycroft bloody Holmes care about Greg getting a girlfriend? More importantly why does he look relieved at the change of topic despite Greg confirming he isn’t single?

John scoots his chair slightly, leaning back casually. Sherlock is mumbling softly next to him, obviously scheming. The doctor glances between the two Holmes brothers and suppresses an eyeroll. How did he end up at Christmas dinner with two most complicated men in London?

“Sooo, Molly? Are  _ you _ seeing anyone new?” Mrs. Hudson says coyly, grinning around her glass of wine.

Molly blushes and stutters before actually answering a shy little affirmative. Greg and Hudson push for details teasingly and John can’t help but notice that Mycroft looks amused.

More specifically he’s giving Greg an amused look, the corners of his mouth upturned in a small smile.

So he isn’t uncomfortable with relationship talk generally, just when it’s about Greg. John pauses, searching his mind for clues. Greg said he’d been seeing someone who wasn’t really new, but he hadn’t said the word girlfriend.

John nearly spilt his wine at the revelation. Sherlock notices his surprise and bumps him with an elbow.

“What is it, John?” The detective whispers, but John can’t really tell him, not with Greg right next to him.

“I’ll tell you later, okay?”

Sherlock huffs but turns back to the general conversation without a fight. John stares at Greg for a moment, glancing between his friend and his lover’s brother. They keep giving each other soft looks. He knows that look, the little longing glances and tight lipped grins. He used to give Sherlock that look. He  _ still _ gives Sherlock that look.

Mycroft and Greg are together. His best friend (other than Sherl) and his partner’s brother are dating.

He finishes his glass of wine and pours his next one with a heavy hand. This is going to be a long night.

They finish dinner and move to the living room for gift giving. Mrs. Hudson sits down in John’s chair, old bones aching from the uncomfortable kitchen chairs. Molly takes a seat on the edge of the couch, and just before Sherlock can take a seat next to her, John tugs him over to Sherlock’s recliner. The man shoots him a bewildered look but allows himself to be positioned on the arm of the chair while John takes the main seat.

Greg and Mycroft have no choice but to sit next to one another. John can’t help but smile when Mycroft awkwardly takes his place next to the detective inspector, obviously trying not to get too close.

Sherlock leans down and hisses quietly. “Are you going to tell me what’s happening?”

“Look at your brother and Greg. Don’t they seem… rather close?” He murmurs back, hoping that Mrs. Hudson’s small talk is enough to cover up Sherlock's and his little conversation.

Sherl glances up, looks back down at John, then looks back at his brother.

John holds back a laugh at the disgusted look on his lover’s face. 

Molly pops their little bubble by passing Sherlock his gift. “I uh… I hope you like it.”

Sherlock carefully unwraps the paper, slender fingers gently undoing the tape and ribbon, He opens the box and smiles at the contents. He pulls it out to show John. A small package of new microscope slides.

“I know Mrs. H got rid of a lot of your science stuff when… ya know, you were gone, so I thought I’d grab you some stuff.” She sounds so shy and embarrassed it makes Sherlock grin even wider. He really wishes she’d have more confidence but her anxious nature has become endearing over time.

“It’s perfect, Molly. Thank you.”

John opens his gift and gives Molly a sweet grin when he pulls out a navy blue jumper. They open Mrs. Hudson’s gifts in a similar fashion and happily accept Greg’s bottle of expensive whiskey.

It doesn’t take a genius like Sherlock to notice that the whiskey is far too expensive for a detective inspector’s salary. It also doesn’t take a genius to notice how close Greg and Mycroft have gotten, shoulders brushing and legs flush against one another.

John is handing out his gifts when Greg stands up, flashing a pack of cigarettes and disappearing down the stairs. Sherlock stands as well, giving John a quick look, before following after the grey-haired man.

They stand on the sidewalk, taking in the lights around them before speaking.

“You’ve started smoking again.”

Greg gives him an annoyed look and sighs, smokes floating up into the frosty air. “Quit for a few weeks after you came back but, uh, couldn’t kick the habit.”

Sherlock puts out his hand and accepts a cigarette. He places it delicately between his lip and leans towards Greg for a light. Greg scoffs, looking like a disappointed father, but pulls out his lighter nonetheless.

Sherlock takes one puff before speaking again.

“These are low tar.”

Greg doesn’t say anything, taking a drag from his own cigarette. He shoots Sherlock a questioning look and quirks his brow.

“Mycroft smokes low tar.” That catches the other man’s attention. Sherlock laughs as Greg chokes on his own smoke, coughing into his elbow. 

“Does he?” The lie is feeble even to Greg, but he tries anyway. Sherlock glares at him, shooting daggers at his failed attempt at deflection.

“That’s also his lighter you’re using,” Sherlock says, exhaling a large puff of smoke. “How long have you two been a thing?”

Greg pauses, crushing his cigarette under his foot. “A few months off and on. We were on before you uh fell and off afterward and then back on again.”

Sherlock turns to him apologetically. It must have been awful for Mycroft, but he still helped Sherlock out, still took care of him despite having broken up with his partner. Greg must have felt so betrayed when Sherlock returned to the world of the living.

“I’m sorry about that. You plan on telling anyone about your,” He pauses, searching for an apt word. “Partnership?”

“Yeah, we were gonna say something tonight but Myc doesn’t want it to be a big thing.”

_ Myc. _ Sherlock suppresses a shutter of disgust. His idiotic big brother has a nickname. God, it’s almost as bad as Sherl.

“Sounds like my brother. You ready to head back in?”

He doesn’t wait for a response before walking back inside, welcoming the rush of warm air.

The room is still lively with conversation. Mrs. Hudson is wearing a brand new diamond necklace courtesy of Mycroft’s deep pockets. Molly is chatting with John, waving her hands around excitedly. Mycroft turns to the opening door, trying not to look too happy when he sees Greg walk in. 

Sherlock pauses in the living room, eyes locked with the little strand of mistletoe hanging from the hall ceiling. He thinks about the subpar gift waiting under the tree for Mycroft and grins. He has a much better idea for a gift now.

Before he can make it to his new destination, Mycroft steps into his personal space. The eldest Holmes shoves a small box into the younger’s hands.

Sherlock looks at him warily as he opens the plan box, feeling John peek over his shoulder to see what it was.

Two plane tickets. First class, round trip, for Rome. John lets out a small gasp, catching the attention of the other guests. Sherlock passes the box to his lover and smiles when he excitedly shows off the tickets to Molly and Mrs. Hudson. John had always wanted to see Italy and now he’ll get to.

“Thank you, Mycroft.” He barely registers the words leaving his mouth but the look on Mycroft’s face says it all. His eyes are wide and his mouth agape. Sherlock had never really thanked him before. Before he can respond, Sherlock continues. “Not just for this. You’ve done so much for me, probably more than I’ll ever know. I want to thank you for everything.”

Mycroft smiles, a real smile that Sherlock hasn’t seen since he was a little boy. “It was my pleasure, brother mine.”

Sherlock smiles back and walks over to the hallway, stepping just past the mistletoe. “Now, now, time for the last gift to be given. Mycroft and Graham will you just come here for a moment.”

The pair share a confused look before moving towards Sherlock. John, his clever John, smiles knowingly.

“Sherlock, what’s this about?” Greg’s voice is hushed but excited.

“Gregory, brother, Merry Christmas.” He steps back, pointing up at the mistletoe taped precariously above them. Molly slaps a hand over her mouth and Mrs. Hudson gives a small cheer. John lets out a cat call.

Mycroft stares at the little plant for a long moment before looking down at Greg. Greg, who's looking up at him so expectantly, so sweetly. There’s a gorgeous flush on the shorter man’s cheeks and Mycroft’s will snaps.

He cups his face and leans in. It isn’t until he hears his idiot brother start fake gagging does he remember why he didn’t want to make a scene in the first place. He pulls back and all his annoyance fades when he sees Greg’s smiling face.

He looks so beautiful in the soft glow of the Christmas lights and he tastes of wine and low tar cigarettes. He’s just so Greg and Mycroft can’t help but lean back in.

John shouts about getting a room while Mrs. Hudson and Molly congratulate them on their relationship. Sherlock just shares a silent look with his brother, a look that says what words can’t. A look that screams  _ I’m happy for you _ . Mycroft gestures to John and smiles. 

_ I’m happy for you too, brother mine _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
